


Sometimes Life gives you Purple Sludge

by TanyaReed



Series: Accidentally Naked [2]
Category: Coupling (UK), Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cooking, Food, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-07 00:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15897378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanyaReed/pseuds/TanyaReed
Summary: Jane finds someone she cannot lie to.





	Sometimes Life gives you Purple Sludge

**Author's Note:**

> This story comes after "Food is Life" chronologically.

By the time Jane had her fifth class, it was getting harder to tell herself that she would be an amazing cook. Things hadn't been going well and, without the power to completely deceive herself, she might have given up.

She entered the kitchen for the fifth class bursting with fake confidence and enthusiasm. Cheerfully, she pretended most of the others were not avoiding her because of her string of culinary disasters.

“Hi,” she said, joining Alma and The Pizza Guy—Callum? Kevin? Chris?--at their shared station.

They'd been talking but fell silent at her approach. Jane ignored this and continued.

“I think today's the day I'm finally going to get it.”

“Or burn the place down,” she heard someone mutter from the next station.

Jane frowned briefly before forcing her face back into its cheerful shape.

“Don't listen to them,” Alma said kindly. She was rather plain, but she was pretty when she smiled, Jane noticed. “We're all beginners here.”

That little bit of encouragement had Jane smiling back at her.

When Chef Spencer came in, he looked even crankier than usual. His long hair was down instead of up, but it was still held tightly back by a bandana. Jane's stomach flipped a little with nerves when his eyes settled on her briefly.

“I see you're all here,” he said. “I hope you're ready to work.”

“Yes, Chef,” said the chorus.

“What?”

“Yes, Chef,” they said with more energy.

“Good. Notebooks out.”

Jane reached into her bag and pulled out her cooking notebook. It was pink and sparkly and she'd covered it with cooking themed stickers. Beside her, The Pizza Guy pulled out a plain, black one, and Alma picked up her large spiral one from the counter. Jane always felt as if the cat on the cover were staring at her.

As Chef Spencer started lecturing about the meal they'd be expected to make, Jane tried to copy everything as closely as she could. There would be no more guessing at amounts of ingredients because, when she did that, she always got them wrong. No matter how closely she thought she followed Chef Spencer's instructions, it always ended with him making faces as he forced himself to swallow her food.

“Are you listening, Jane?” he asked sharply, cutting through her thoughts, and she realized thinking about messing up had made her miss some of the recipe. Again.

“Um...Could you repeat the last thing, Chef?”

He rolled his eyes but replied, “Peel one fresh clove of garlic.”

Jane dutifully scribbled this down as he continued on with the recipe.

“The most important thing I want you to put in your meal today is yourself,” he added. “Your heart. Your soul. I want you to love your dish. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Chef.”

Almost everyone answered, but Jane just stared at him.

Once more, his eyes zeroed in on her. “Is there a problem?”

Jane opened her mouth to answer. The words pressed against her throat. When she realized they would be the truth, she pressed her lips together and silently shook her head.

She could feel him still watching her, so she pretended to write in her notebook. It troubled her that his probing gaze always made her tell the truth. The truth was not her friend.

“Okay. Let's get started. I want to see what you can do.”

“Remember,” Alma told Jane as they started removing stuff from the cupboards, “raw chicken contaminates.”

“I remember.” How could she forget Chef Spencer barking at her during the last class to change her cutting board?

“Why don't I do the chicken?” The Pizza Guy suggested, his blue eyes guileless.

“Okay,” Jane said. “I'll chop.”

They quickly got to work, and Jane savagely attacked the red onion on the cutting board. With jealousy, she watched Chef Spencer as he went from station to station. Sometimes he corrected what was going on. Other times, he said a simple, gruff, “Good job, Pru,” or “Good job, Angus.” Jane longed for a “Good job, Jane,” but knew that Chef Spencer mostly thought of her as useless.

Chef Spencer stopped beside Lilly and Marilla, and his face softened slightly in approval.

“Much better this week,” he said. Marilla had been doing about as well as Jane in the class.

“Thank you, Chef.” Her freckled face dimpled into a smile.

Jane glared at her onion, knowing her knife cuts looked as if a three year old had done them.

“Watch it,” Chef Spencer said as he came to her station. “This time you'll need stitches.”

“What?” she asked, feeling a little flustered.

“You're making a mess of those onions.” He scowled.

“I...”

“And if you keep cutting like that you're going to lose a finger.” He sounded cranky. Not that that was unusual. Cranky seemed to be his natural state.

She flushed. “I'm sorry, Chef.”

“Remember what I told you last class...and the class before that...”

“Show me again. I know I can get this.”

He took the knife from her fingers. Though he looked scary, his hands were gentle. “Hold your knife like this. Your other hand goes here. Chop this way. Neat cuts. No lost appendages. See?”

For some strange reason, Jane suddenly felt the urge to cry. She never cried, not during the day and never in front of people. Tears stripped you naked. They were only for when you were alone in the dark.

Her hand was shaking a bit when she took the knife back. “Like this?”

He shook his head and growled. “No. How many times...Pay attention.”

Chef Spencer rounded the corner and came up behind Jane. Her breath caught as his hand went over hers. His body brushed her lightly, but there was no threat in it, no feeling of him being inappropriate. He was serious and clinical as he moved her hand to the right position.

His skin on hers made her tummy tumble and her skin tingle. The feeling almost made her drop the knife.

“You hold it like this,” he said lowly into her ear, his breath brushing across her cheek. 

“And you chop like this,” he continued, moving her other hand. She let him do it, moving back slightly because she was enjoying his touch. Softly, he asked, “Are you listening?”

“Yes, Chef,” she whispered.

“Then show me.”

Chef Spencer released her hand and took a step back. Even so, Jane was distracted. Her breath felt restricted, but she tried to follow his directions. She chopped awkwardly while he silently watched her, and she tried not to think of the spark of awareness he'd innocently awoken in her body.

After a few tentative cuts, he said, “Are you serious about this class? Why are you here?”

Jane's mind screamed at her to lie, to make up an interesting answer. This was where she was supposed to impress him. Or knock him off kilter with her kookiness. Or disgust him so much he'd leave her alone. She knew this, and still she said, so quietly no one else could hear, “Food is love.”

She felt him still and hated herself for showing a true piece of her soul. Her mind scrambled to find something silly to say, something that would knock her back into Mad Jane territory.

Before she could get anything out, he said, “Try harder.”

“Yes, Chef.” The words were barely audible.

He squeezed her wrist gently and moved away to make sure The Pizza Guy was treating his chicken properly. Jane could finally breathe normally again. Her hands were still shaking, and she didn't know if it were from lingering attraction or fear. Facing the truth about herself was always terrifying, and he'd forced her to do it, just for an instant.

After that, she was extra careful with the way she was cutting, but she still didn't think she got it quite right. How a simple thing like trying to be neat and not cut off your fingers could cause her so much problems, she didn't know. 

It didn't get any better when she managed to get onion skins in with the onions or when the top came off of the pepper shaker or when she set her part of the dish on fire—almost costing Alma her eyebrows. Despair was starting to crack Jane's shell of indifference and cluelessness.

When it was all over, she looked down at the mess in front of her. “I don't think I can do this.”

“You can,” Alma said, surprising her because Jane hadn't realized she'd spoken out loud. “You just need to keep trying.”

Easy for her to say when her side was perfect. Jane widened her eyes gormlessly and indicated her dish. “It looks festive, doesn't it?”

“Yeah. I don't really think it's supposed to be that color,” The Pizza Guy told her, leaning over her shoulder. Alma gave him a gentle slap on the arm, which made Jane relax enough to laugh.

“For today, you're going to be sampling one another's dishes. Trade your plates left,” Chef Spencer said. He eyed Jane's plate. "Except you. C'mere. I need to talk to you.”

Jane swallowed. Was he going to kick her from the class?

Alma gave her a quick pat on the arm, and The Pizza Guy winked at her in support.

Chef Spencer led her across the room where the others couldn't hear. Jane nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and scrambled to find excuses. 

“You've got a problem,” he said bluntly as soon as they were out of earshot.

“I'll try harder,” she promised.

Chef Spencer studied her for a moment before he said, “Your problem's not with your cooking.”

Jane thought back to the purpley-brown sludge that had erupted in fire. “It's not?”

“No, it's...Well, some of it's your cooking, but that's just a symptom, not the disease.”

“You can tell I have a disease, just from my cooking?”

“That's not what I...” he started with a frustrated growl before pausing and briefly putting his fingers to his forehead. “No. Listen, Jane...”

She did, but he went silent. “Chef?”

“I asked you to cook with your soul today.”

She brightened, at least on the outside. “I have a very beautiful soul. It's one of the most interesting things about me.”

“Maybe you do,” he told her, “But nobody can see it. You wanna know why you ended up with disgusting purple sludge...”

“It was the fire. Did you see it? Whoosh!” She waved her hand expressively.

“You don't care enough.”

“I do. I do care.”

“I know you do.” He looked into her eyes, his gaze piercing her. “Not enough.”

Jane felt as if her stomach were falling right out of her body.

“Until you know who you are, you're never going to be able to put enough of yourself into anything to matter.”

She took a shaky breath.

“When you cook, you have to be the Jane you are when no one else is around. If you're not, it's just food. It has no soul.”

She couldn't reply.

“Figure out who you are. That's how to succeed in this class.”

“I'm interesting,” she said defiantly, pretending his words hadn't hurt her.

“Okay.”

“I can learn to cook.”

“Then show me.”

She swallowed and nodded.

“Go home and think about what I've said. I'll see you next class.”

“I can come back?” she asked, surprised.

He smiled, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. She realized it was the first time she'd really seen him smile. “I'm not giving up on you.”

“Thank you, Chef.”

Chef Spencer nodded and went back to the others. Jane turned and watched him, thinking over what he'd said.


End file.
